


and leave the dust behind

by cassanabaratheon



Category: Black Sails
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[XVIII AU]</p><p>He outstretches his bloody hands, beseeching. Mercy; that is what he asks for but there is none to be found from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and leave the dust behind

**Author's Note:**

> AU of episodes (9) 10 from season 2.

As they are led through the gathering crowd in a procession for the people to see them up close, she hears them shout at her; _whore_ , _witch_ , _minion_ , _bitch_. Their jeers have little effect on her, these names they thought would cause injury, are meaningless. Something is thrown and it hits her between her shoulder blades but she does not flinch. Where is the civilisation now? she wonders as they are hauled up onto the platform. These are simple people yet these men, women, and even children, all have that hungry expectation of death in their eyes, spirits raised high by bloodlust, and she thinks that they are perhaps the most revolting spectacle of all to witness.

In their seats side by side, they face their judge, jury and executioners. The farce that is being passed for justice almost makes the wild laughter she feels rise within her chest burst from her cracked lip (a courtesy from the night before). There is a dark bruise, mottled purple and black, on her right temple from the beating she took and on her arms, beneath her dirtied dress, there are twin markings from rough hands.

Peter does not look at her, cannot bear to look at her, as he speaks with James, offering one last chance, like the Devil, hissing words of covert damnation.

“Spare yourself this humiliation. Spare _her_.”

At that, James turns to her. It is not in consideration of the offer, she knows, but as a demonstration of unity – their unity.

The trial begins in all its excess of hyperbolic speech, worthy of a melodrama, although all know that the outcome is already fixed. This show, the spectacle that they are, will finish with them dancing the gallows’ jig, side by side, the monster and his accomplice.

 

///

 

Charles Vane’s presence causes a sudden shift in proceedings and has sent a jolt of alertness through her. James is similarly affected; the slight stiffening of his shoulders, detectable only to her, grips her with a fine tension. She cannot hear what it is that James and Vane say to one another as a passage from the diary of Abigail Ashe is read to the crowd, but the fleeting look that James gives her tells her all she needs to know. She turns her attention to Peter and notices that he is nervous, sensing that, second by second, the situation is slipping out of his hands. There is a ghost of smile on her lips as she listens to Abigail’s thoughts, knowing how they must sting her father.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she catches Vane watching at her and she narrows her eyes a little, gaze flickering to James. The faintest trace of a nod makes cold sweat break at the back of her neck and her heart picks up speed in her chest, thumping so hard she feels it in her back. A thrill shoots up her spine and her mouth is bone dry as Vane stands and speaks.

James shifts in his chair, his position is braced and she feels almost sick with anticipation.

_“For those of you who live to see tomorrow, know that you had a choice to see the truth and you let yourselves be convinced otherwise.”_

Her eyes, like all those around, are upon this man as he raises his arms into the air, baring the chains for a moment before lowering them. It is a signal and they do not wait long for the response.

The first shot of the canon makes her gasp, ripping the breath from her that she had been unconsciously holding. Her ears ring with the sound as stone and brick crumble and, as another shot comes, they are all plunged into hell.

 

///

 

Smoke, rubble and blood, screams and cries, figures blurring all around, yet she is steady and her cheeks are flushed from feeling so _fucking_ _alive_ , a mad exhilaration. She catches sight of him, stumbling in the panic, trying to flee and she burns with rage and intent. She advances without a thought and James is by her, cutting down the men until Peter is defenceless. There is a plea but James’ sword plunges into his stomach and she is upon him, shoving him down into the dirt, pressing the chain of her handcuffs down on his throat. His hands claw at her, and his face soon flushes from red to purple, eyes bulging and she watches a vein burst in one. His body jerks beneath her and his blood seeps into her dress.

“I said I would see the city burn and you hang,” she snarls and her nails draw blood as he thrashes his head. “And my word _will_ be the last word for this place.”

James abruptly grabs her by the shoulder, pulling her back, as he shouts that they have to leave. The risk now is too great to stay any longer. Peter gasps, rasping and coughing, clutching at his bruised throat and his wound weakly. James shoves a pistol in her hands and her aim does not waver as she stands over him. The building behind her is hit, the roof caving in, dust billowing out, yet she does not balk. Set against such destruction, she stands like an avenging angel with eyes ablaze. The sight makes him quake.

He outstretches his bloody hands, beseeching. Mercy; that is what he asks for but there is none to be found from her.

“This might not be the noose but it’s as good as.” She drops her aim from his head to his chest and pulls the trigger with a terrible smile.

“Move!” Vane shouts at them, coming into view and they run.

Peter chokes slowly, the blood in his lungs drowns him as he watches his city collapse, her voice echoing sharply in his ears.

 

///

 

One of James’ men, handy with picking locks, gets the chains off of her and she rubs her wrist gingerly from where the iron had chafed the skin. The crew want to know what happened, taking in her bloody gown and bruised face, but now is not the time. James takes charge and his crew move quickly. The three of them then look out across the bay and to Charles Town, smoking and battered.

“What’s the target, Captain?” Billy asks coming up beside him but James turns to her, waits for _her_ , to tell him. She gives but a single nod that he understands.

“Whatever’s left.”

Billy's furrowed brow of mild concern does not stop him from giving the command and she catches a look of almost regard from Vane. However, it matters not to her; she just stares out as the canons fire, hitting brick and mortar over and over. For a while they, she and James, watch the city crumble until he takes her softly by the hand. After all that those hands have done, after all that she has seen what they can do, they can still be so gentle with her. She glimpses a sight of her fingers, sees the dried blood under her nails and thinks of what her own have done and the capability of them. Not so different, hers and his, not now and she smiles lightly.

Reports will go back to London, cries of outrage and humiliation will spread wildly and it will be printed in all the papers and leaflets against piracy. Except now she too will be branded a monster alongside him and when she will hear of this, she will laugh and laugh.

There is no backwards glance from either of them. They have relieved themselves of the ghost they harboured for so long, letting him rest with the truth they now know. Once it is sure that the place has been obliterated, they set sail, leaving their past smouldering in the dust.


End file.
